Hate
by Wicked.Intentions
Summary: Nazi Zombies! Richtofen/Nikolai. Richtofen and Nikolai love to argue hatefully.


**Disclaimer:** _Call of Duty: World at War_, all characters and settings, and anything else you would recognize as pertaining to this video game does not belong to me. The plot itself belongs to me. I do not intend to make any money off the writing of this fan fiction; it is merely for entertainment purposes.

* * *

**Title:**_ Hate._

**Complete Story Summary:** Richtofen and Nikolai love to argue hatefully.

**Story Pairing(s):** Edward Richtofen/Nikolai Belinski.

**Story Rating:** T.

**Chapter Content:** Coarse language and very suggestive male/male contact.

**Notes:** There is just not enough of any of these pairings from "Nazi Zombies."

Oh, and this isn't in the least bit romantic, but that's how I find stories of this nature.

* * *

Nikolai eyed Richtofen, who was several feet away from him, firing away with his upgraded MP40 at zombies that charged him. The four soldiers were in a circular formation, each watching every angle. The Russian hurriedly reloaded his PPSh-41 and rapidly fired at the zombies surrounding him, satisfaction building when every kill was a headshot. Was there nothing he could not do?

Once again, his eyes returned to Richtofen, glaring at the back of his head. Fucking Nazi.

He let out an involuntary gasp when he realized that a zombie had grabbed a hold of him, and its putrid mouth was descending upon him, teeth ready to rip apart his flesh. He groped for his Bowie knife and prepared for the agony that would explode from wherever the damn thing sunk its teeth into…

…And suddenly there was nothing holding onto him. He glanced around and saw Richtofen holster his gun, staring at him. Nikolai was given a wicked smile.

"That was your fault," Nikolai snarled, anger and embarrassment swimming below his skin, letting off a heat that resulted in a flush. He realized that both Tank and Takeo were finished with their zombie hordes and were observing the two of them with arched eyebrows. Richtofen crossed his arms and gave him a questioning look.

Furious at being saved by a Nazi, Nikolai stomped away from Teleporter C Room. "I am going to drink vodka," he grumbled, unshouldering his bag that contained his stash. Behind him, he heard Tank comment, "You know, Doc, I don't think he likes ya too much."

"Pity."

* * *

Later on in the day found Nikolai dozing lightly against the Juggernog machine. He was not going to sleep anywhere unless it was near the very object that saved his life every day. Footsteps broke him out of his resting state, and he blearily blinked the sleep out of his eyes to find someone standing over him. He panicked, grabbing for his PPSh-41.

"Calm down. It's just me," came the thick German accent he had come to associate with the rotten Nazi.

"What the fuck do you want?" Nikolai grumbled, releasing his hold on the gun and rubbing at his eyes miserably. He had been in the middle of a very nice dream, and he didn't appreciate being woken up by the Nazi, of all people. He would have preferred to be woken up by a zombie taking a bite out of his arm than by Doctor Richtofen.

"For your information, I have come for zhe Juggernog machine," Richtofen told him dryly. "Zhe effects have vorn off, and I am at risk."

The Russian grunted in response. He slid his fingertips over the sleek barrel of his gun, watching the Nazi remove a bottle from the machine under his lashes distrustfully.

Richtofen removed the top of the bottle with a flick of his wrist and brought the beverage to his lips. He noticed Nikolai giving him a dirty look and returned it. He downed the bottle in a couple chugs, wiping the sleeve of his SS uniform across his mouth to remove the stray drops.

"Now fuck off," Nikolai dismissed harshly. "I was trying to sleep, and you ruin it."

"Sleep?" Richtofen echoed. "Zhis is not an appropriate time for sleep. Perhaps you should be down in zhe mainframe vith zhe others, preparing for zhe next hordes of zhe undead."

Nikolai simply turned his head away, closing his eyes.

Richtofen glared at him, gritting his teeth and clenching his hands into fists. He did _not_ like to be ignored. "Russian, get down to zhe mainframe. _Now_."

"Bite me," he replied calmly, bothering not to open his eyes and look at the Nazi.

With a snarl of rage, the doctor surged forward and snatched at the front of the Soviet's uniform, hauling him to his feet. "Get zhe _fuck_ down to zhe mainframe." He threw Nikolai into the hallway next to the barricade and wiped his hands down his uniform as if he had touched something vile.

Nikolai spat out something in Russian, a particularly dirty insult, and spun around to face the doctor after having regained his balance.

They stared each other down.

"I am not repeating myself," Richtofen told him.

The other man growled lowly, raising a fist, wanting so badly to swing at his teammate.

"'Ey, Nikolai, get the hell down here! I have somethin' cool to show ya!" Tank called, breaking through the chilling silence that had descended between the two rival men.

With a final withering stare, Nikolai turned on his heel and left to go to the mainframe. Not because Richtofen had told him to. Never.

Wordlessly, the doctor followed him.

* * *

Finally, after night had finally arrived, marking the day as another survived against the undead, the weary soldiers met up in the mainframe to delegate nighttime responsibilities.

"Well," Tank spoke up immediately, wanting to be the one to give orders tonight, "since me and Takeo haven't slept for a whole day, I think we should get to go to sleep tonight. You," he indicated Richtofen, "and Nikolai can do the rounds, and tomorrow you two can sleep."

Finding this satisfactory, the doctor nodded his consent. "Zhe Russian and I vill do zhe rounds tonight. You two get sleep."

Takeo bowed to his companions respectfully, wishing them great fortune with their tasks, while Tank raised a hand in farewell, and the two of them disappeared around opposite corners, heading towards their sleeping quarters of choice.

As soon as they were alone, Nikolai put a great distance between him and the Nazi, staring him down.

"You vill be taking zhe Animal Testing Lab and Teleporter A Room tonight. Ve vill meet up in an hour at zhe bridge. Is zhis understood?"

"Whatever," he spat, hurrying away to where he had been assigned, all too pleased to leave the presence of that infuriating bastard.

Richtofen rolled his eyes at this childish behavior and unholstered his gun, holding it in an appropriate position to shoot. He closed his eyes briefly before marching out of the mainframe, falling into the familiar movements of the traditional Nazi march.

* * *

An hour later found the doctor where he had assigned the two of them, but he was not surprised to discover that the Russian had not bothered to show up. With a grimace at having to work closely with such a person, Richtofen leaned against the railing of the bridge he was situated on, and he studied the details of the wall before him. He glanced over his shoulder at the neon blue Swastika that was visible through the windows of Teleporter C Room.

He tapped his fingers to an unheard beat in his head, growing steadily impatient for the Soviet soldier to show up.

Perhaps he had been eaten by some zombies. But Richtofen had never been that lucky. Ten minutes of silent observation of the Swastika, and the doctor decided he had better seek out Nikolai and drag him to the designated meeting spot so they could get on with their rounds.

He turned on his heel and marched across the bridge grating towards the staircase that would take him to the Juggernog machine, which he knew to be a favorite spot of the Russian. When he turned the corner and found no childish soldier, he became significantly more agitated. He resisted the urge to tug at tufts of his own hair.

His search led him down to the Animal Testing Lab and ended in Teleporter A Room. As soon as he entered the room where the teleporter was, he was greeted with a Russian song coming from the lips of one drunken Soviet, who really could not sing worth crap.

Richtofen cringed at the tune that forced its way into his ears and nearly clapped his hands over them in desperation. Instead, he decided to just cut it off at its source. He ascended the left staircase and found Nikolai slumped over the weapons box, cradling his bottle of vodka like his life depended on it.

"'Ey, Rick-Rif-Rit-Ripo-fen. Yeah—that is it."

"My name is Richtofen," he corrected annoyedly. "Vhat are you doing?"

"I am singing o' my country and o' old times." He hiccupped, swaying in place.

"I told you to make your rounds. I did not say to get drunk and make a fool out of yourself."

"Wha'?" Nikolai blinked. "I am not drunk."

"Ja, I can see zhat," was his dry reply. "And I am not a doctor."

"You are not?"

"_Yes_," Richtofen stressed in irritation, "I am. I am just saying zhat you are clearly drunk as I am clearly a doctor."

Nikolai chose not to respond, gripping his head. "Ugh, this headache is bitch. Perhaps more vodka will help." He lifted his bottle to his lips and downed the contents.

With a sigh, Richtofen wondered at this unfortunate circumstance. What was he going to do with a drunken partner? The man was helpless against the zombies in this state.

"You know, this vodka almost make you tolerable," he was told seriously.

"You do not say."

"In fact, I could almost ignore fact that you are Nazi."

"Really."

"Yeah."

"Vell, I cannot say zhe same about you. I myself do not have alcohol to raise my inhibitions. To me, you are still a filthy Soviet."

"Fuck you!" Nikolai exclaimed, furrowing his brow. "I was complimenting you, and that is how you repay me?"

"_Zhat _vas a compliment?" Richtofen's eyebrows shot upwards, not that Nikolai noticed due to the hat that covered his forehead and shadowed his eyes.

"I am getting tired of your sarcasm," Nikolai slurred, directing a half-assed glare at the agitated Nazi.

"I am getting tired of your drunkenness," the doctor retorted. "You're vorthless to me like zhis."

"Fuck off."

"No."

They leveled each other with harsh looks, and Nikolai was discontent to find that his pleasant fuzziness was fading away, leaving him with red hot anger towards his worst enemy. _Nobody_ was allowed to sober him up.

Nikolai clamored to his feet, leaving his empty bottle and gun behind on the ground. He stood to his full height, finding himself to be a bit taller than the threatening Nazi. Pushing aside this small victory, he bared his teeth in anger.

Richtofen's lips curled into a frown of distaste. He kept his eyes locked with the Russian's, refusing to back down.

Slowly, they began to circle each other, forming fists with their clenched hands until their bones were protesting. They let out low noises that were akin to the growling of territorial hounds.

"Fucking Nazi!" Nikolai spat, swinging a fist in his direction.

"Fucking Soviet!" Richtofen returned in equal fury, easily sidestepping the blow and surging forward threateningly. He invaded the Russian's space, preparing to shove him backwards roughly to begin the fight that was brimming. He raised his hands to attack Nikolai, but he found himself being forced backwards against the edge of the teleporter behind him, a furious soldier practically eating his mouth.

Teeth dug into his sensitive lips and drew blood, and the scent and taste of bitter vodka filled his senses. He was vaguely aware of hands digging into his uniform and the light pressure of nails trying to claw at him through his clothing.

Nikolai swiped his tongue over Richtofen's lips, tasting his blood victoriously, his lips attaching to a rather deep cut and sucking at it. He pushed the Nazi back against the teleporter, delighting in his exhalation of pain at the metal burrowing into his spine and arching him into the other man.

"I fucking hate you, Nazi," Nikolai breathed out against his bleeding mouth, raising a hand to slice a bitten nail through his cheek when he roughly fondled the hollowed, sharp cheekbone.

Frustration filled Richtofen at being dominated by the Soviet, and he fought back determinedly. He gnashed his teeth against the wandering tongue, satisfied when a cry of pain was his reward, along with the coppery taste of fresh blood against his palate. He walked them backwards until Nikolai was perched on the weapons box. He leaned over him, grabbing at his abundant clothing and becoming slightly dizzy from the mingling scent and flavor of their mixed blood.

Nikolai grunted when he suddenly found Richtofen kneeling above him with one knee on the wooden box that contained iron wonders. The box groaned weakly at the extra weight atop it. The Russian hooked an ankle around the leg that was firmly planted on the ground and struggled to trip the doctor. He turned his head so that Richtofen's abused lips were pressed against his cheek, and he clamped his teeth down on the other man's earlobe. His traveling hands stopped on his firm backside, groping harshly at the cloth-covered flesh with enough force to bruise.

Richtofen ignored the hands on his body and sank his teeth into the fleshy cheek in front of him, raking his nails down the soldier's neck, chest, and abdomen until he reached his groin. He gripped Nikolai's crotch with an unforgiving grasp until the Russian was panting out obscenities in his native language.

Nikolai decided to respond to this new attention by fondling the Nazi intimately as well, capturing his lips once again and slipping his vodka-reeking tongue into the doctor's mouth to share saliva.

They grabbed and grasped at each other until they were both reduced to needy, moaning creatures of lust, their hands bringing the other to a painfully satisfying release.

Having reached his limit, Richtofen sank to his knees in front of the trembling Nikolai. He let out a shaky breath, closing his eyes at the dwindling shockwaves of pleasure that licked and whipped their way through his body.

He lifted his eyelids halfway and peered up at his enemy, taking in his state with interest. At least he wasn't hopelessly drunk anymore.

He licked his dry lips, finding blood still on them. He could feel the wet stick of the crimson fluid splashed across his cheek where he had been cut and was pleased to find that Nikolai wasn't without his own battle wounds.

Nikolai rather enjoyed the pleasure-weakened Nazi on his knees in front of him. It was a good look for him.

Angry foreplay was something they both could agree on—but it was probably one of the only things.


End file.
